Crimson & Clover
by Craft Rose
Summary: A collection of (naughty and shamelessly unresolved) drabbles, between our favourite witch and wizard. If any of the drabbles strike your fancy, let me know. I'll see if I can turn them into one-shots, or more.
1. Colloportus

_**Author's Note: I have 50+ drabbles/short works saved onto my external hard drive. I think it's about time I share some of them with you lovely people! Fair warning... this one is a bit kinky. Inspired by 'I Wanna Be Yours' by Arctic Monkeys. Give it a listen to get the full effect.**_

 _ **~Craft Rose**_

* * *

" _Colloportus._ "

His voice is wrecked with fire whiskey and angst, and the sound of it paralyzes her, as he moves closer. Hermione blinks at him, distantly aware that she is backed into a corner now, and that his hands are flattened on either side of her, directly onto the wall. In the background, there is a faint _hiss_ and _click_ , as the door locks shut. The mild disturbance takes her attention for only a moment, before she is forced to look upon those slate grey eyes.

Just one look, and it is clear to her, that _Malfoy_ is nowhere in sight.

Somewhere between this second and the next, his lips come crashing down on hers, and she breathes in, threading her fingers through his soft, blonde hair, as his thumbs graze the length of her throat, harshly.

 _Choke me, Draco. Make me yours._

* * *

 _ **...?**_


	2. Stockholm

**Author's Note: This is definitely** ** _the-one-that-got-away_** **in the style of dramione. I'm pairing this one with "Take Me Out" by Franz Ferdinand (for no reason, other than that's the song I was listening to when I wrote whatever this is lol).**

 **~Craft Rose**

* * *

"Granger," he nodded, entering the lift.

She tore those warm, brown eyes away from _The Daily Prophet_ , for only a moment, and nodded hello to him, as she did every morning. "Malfoy."

If he could have, he would have snatched the newspaper out of her clutches and done as he should have, that night in Stockholm.

But he couldn't.

Mostly, because there was a lift attendant.

* * *

 **Yea or nay?**


	3. San Francisco

**Author's Note: I'm entirely sure what this is...**

 **~Craft Rose**

* * *

There was a break in the clouds, from where a single beam of sunlight emerged. Caroline took a long look at it, holding her hands to the campfire. It was a cold morning in the Northwest of America, and although she was to move farther south, where the resistance was strongest, a small part of her craved the north. It reminded her so much of home … the long nights; the rain; the forests; and the fresh air.

" _Caroline…!_ " someone called, beyond the clearing.

Startled, the witch turned around, hiding the moisture that lined her eyes, as a young wizard approached. He was tall, dark-haired, dressed in the same minimalist attire, and around her age of twenty years old.

"Jason." She noted the distress in his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Within a couple feet, Jason stopped. "I went to the creek to fetch some water," he explained, a strangely hollow look to him. "And I found _this_."

Caroline panned a look down, to the object in his hands. It was a mask-a devilish, silvery mask. " _No_." She stepped back, shaking her head, slowly. "No, that's impossible. We … we've been so _careful_. We … we … "

"Hey, hey." Jason stepped closer, instinctively. "Look at me," he said, turning her by the chin. "I will die before I let them touch you. Do you understand me?"

Her lips quivered, because she knew he wasn't lying. "Your hair," Caroline voiced, brokenly. "It's getting lighter again. You need to dye it before … before someone sees you."

"Stop," he admonished. "Calm down. Breathe."

She did.

"This place isn't safe anymore," he said.

"Where will we go?"

"There's no more _we_. You head south. I stay here."

She backed away. "No, no, it … it's too soon. If … if we just …"

Jason breathed deeply, fighting his own demons. "We both knew this day would come."

"But–"

"I'll meet you south as soon as I can," he said. "You have my word."

Caroline looked at him with moist eyes. "They'll find you before that happens. You know they will."

Jason didn't disagree. Instead, he combed his hands through her bleached hair and drew her in for a kiss. It was tight and long and deep, and when she started to cry, he kissed the tears away. "San Francisco," he murmured, directly onto her lips. "Just like we said."

She squeezed his forearms. "You don't have to do this alone. Please, Dra–"

The young man tensed, tearing a look around the clearing to make sure they were unseen. Once he was sure the coast was clear, he looked at her, visibly shaken. "Never use that name," he said. "Never use _your_ name."

Because his concerns were valid, she didn't fight it.

Their best bet at accomplishing what they set out to do, was by splitting up. It was always in the cards, and yet, it came too soon. As much as she didn't want to leave him, there was a bigger picture. One chance to get it right. The cargo was too important.

"San Francisco," Caroline echoed, tearfully. "Just like we said."

* * *

 **...?**


	4. Doubt

**Author's Note: This one's a little different.**

 **~Craft Rose**

* * *

For a time, he couldn't leave the room without stealing a kiss, and neither could she. Suffice it to say, things had changed, but it was not for lack of love or attraction. Close to the end, there were still mornings wherein she caught him sneaking looks at her, as she left the shower. Heat would dance across the blue of his eyes, as though, for a moment, he imagined taking her like that, in a haze of bare skin and rooted longing ...like the old days.

"You're thinking about him," Draco surmised; more of an admonishment than anything else.

Hermione blinked. "I'm not. I'm just . . . " The sound of soft jazz music and clinking silverware ricocheted through her body. She breathed in, looking down at her dress and jewelry, and then to the man across, as he placed his hand on top of hers. They were in a restaurant, somewhere in the expensive side of Muggle London . . . where no one would think to look.

Draco softened a little, around the eyes. "We don't have to do this," he said, quietly. "If you need more time . . . "

" _No_." Hermione ignored the flit in her chest, and locked hands with him. "I'm ready. I . . . I want this."

"Are you certain?" he asked, because that was the considerate thing to do.

She played a smile on her lips, if only to hide the quiver of doubt. "I'm here, aren't I?"

* * *

 **. . . ?**


	5. Dear Diary

**Author's Note: This one is in the style of a diary entry. First person. No warnings.**

 **~Craft Rose**

* * *

 _21st May 2001_

 _I saw him at Gringotts today. It was only for a moment . . . and for some reason, I hid. There were tons of people around, tons of distractions. If anything, I should have walked right past him without a care in the world, but I couldn't do that. I've never been that person. I've never been the one to rinse my hands of a past love and move on, as though we're strangers. I've never been the one to smile and talk to him mere weeks after the fact, as though I'm no longer broken . . . as though the hardest part is over. Because that's not true, is it? The hardest part has only just begun, hasn't it? Still. If I could, I would close my eyes and will myself to forget . . . every word, every touch, every secret . . .because that's all I was to him._

 _A secret._

 _Unknown and unseen._

 _And like any good secret, I remain hidden._

* * *

 **Author's Note: There's no real indication as to what happened or why it has taken such a toll on our narrator. All we're left with is a story that was over before it began . . . and maybe that's the core of the issue.**


	6. Daylight

_**Author's Note: This one is a little different. I mean, they all are, but this one more so. I hope you like it!**_

 _ **~Craft Rose**_

* * *

Draco collapsed on the park bench, staring up at the bright, blinding sky. It was dawn. If he could have, he would have drowned his frustrations in another bottle of bourbon, as he did most days and nights. But, like any good drunk, he had drained his bank account dry, leaving him with nothing but the gnawing, twisting reminder of what happened one year ago, and what led to it.

 _ **10th November, 1999**_

 _The sound of police sirens filled his ears, as he ran through the back woods. It was cold outside, frigid and icy, layering the earth and naked trees in frost. If he could make it . . . if he could beat them to the scene, he could save her . . . he could remind her of all the time they spent together . . . of the bickering, the laughter and the underlying warmth._

 _Draco ran as fast as he could, skidding into the clearing, as he noticed her body laying there, convulsing in a pool of blood._

" _Granger!" he shouted, sprinting towards her and falling down to his knees, where he brushed the matted hair away from her face and stared deeply into those warm brown eyes. Still inquisitive, and still fighting to survive, she looked to him, utterly helpless for the first time in her life. "Granger," he said again, whispering it this time, as he drew a vial from his pocket. "You need to drink this. Now."_

" _Who are . . . who are you?" she struggled to say, unbeknownst to the shockwaves that went through his body, at the sound of her voice; the waves that lapped his insides._

 _Draco held the silence a moment, as the sirens grew louder and louder. "I'm no one," he lied, shoving the truth as far down his throat, as he could._

" _You know my . . . my name," the girl choked out, flinching back as he placed the tip of the vial between her lips. She resisted for a moment, and then another, before the fight in her eyes turned dark and distant._

 _He watched intently as the potion rolled down her esophagus, swarming her insides . . . lifting the ache from her bones, one layer at a time. "You'll be OK," Draco murmured, locking his hand with hers, eyes watering as she squeezed._

" _It was . . . it was an animal," she told him, drifting far away. "A monster. The . . . man on the phone didn't . . . believe me, when I . . . called for help . . . "_

" _I believe you," he voiced, quietly._

 _There was a trace of hope in her eyes, as she looked to him, in silent thanks. It wouldn't be long now. Soon, her eyes would close, her wounds would heal, and she would forget about him. It was the only way to keep her safe. Once a bright, sharp-tongued witch, the young woman before him now led a simple, muggle life . . . away from the danger._

 _Deep down, he knew, if ever she were to find out what he had done, regardless of his pure intentions, she would never forgive him. Those memories were just as much hers, as they were his._

 _But she could never know._

 _Draco closed his eyes, blocking the desperation, as he cradled her unconscious form in his arms. He could never see her like this again up close. The potion was in full effect. In a matter of minutes, she would wake up in the middle of the forest, alone, with no memory of the attack or the stranger that helped her._

 _ **Present Day**_

There were birds chirping in the distance, as he rose from the bench and stumbled away, toward the lake. The surface was calm and undisturbed, a place of tranquility . . . a place that brought him comfort, more comfort than the bottom of a bottle had ever done. That in mind, he fell to the grass and closed his eyes, acutely aware of the moisture that rolled down his sunken cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he said to the vast emptiness. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I . . . " His chest contracted, and he wiped his eyes, roughly. "I should have tried harder. I shouldn't have lied. You . . . you trusted me and I . . . I left you because I thought . . . I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought . . . I thought I could keep you safe from . . . from _them_ , but I was wrong."

The harshness of it swept over him, causing his head to sink down and his body to shake as he released all the anger and emptiness and grief. He had compartmentalized it for so long, that he almost forgot what it felt like to break, to hit that cold, stone surface of rock bottom and will himself to carry on.

Draco breathed in and out, sparing a moment to calm down, before looking out over the lake. Once upon a time, she had been there with him, beside him, telling him all she knew about freshwater creatures, whilst he pretended to listen. In truth, he couldn't tear his eyes away from her . . . from the brightness that filled those irises as she went on and on about lake dwelling creatures and plant life. He smiled at the memory. It was a long time ago, and yet, he remembered it clearly, because it was the first time he realized he had changed, from the young man who bullied and taunted his peers.

That young man could never have fallen so hard for someone so different, but he had . . . and in knowing that, he carried on.

* * *

 **. . . ?**


	7. Prisoners

_**Author's Note: Inspired by the prison worlds in The Vampire Diaries. This one, I feel, is the closest to being turned into a multi-chaptered story. For now, it's rough and unedited. I'll tweak it later. Enjoy.**_

 _ **~Craft Rose**_

* * *

There was a bright, blinding light ahead; a light that consumed everything in its path. In a flash, the world was swallowed by that light - the people, the trees, the animals, and the two sides of the war. Hermione looked to the left, where Ron stood, and buried her face in his chest, as the light consumed them, too. Just like that, it disappeared. Everything she had ever known and loved and care for, vanished as the universe collapsed within itself, and when she opened her eyes again, hoping to find an afterlife of some sort, she instead found nothing.

Hermione gasped for breath, tearing a look around the grounds. The castle wasn't there. The courtyard wasn't there. The greenhouses, the Quidditch Pitch, the boathouse and the Whomping Willow . . . missing.

To her great horror, Ron was missing, too.

As were the others. Harry, Ginny, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Neville, Luna, Hagrid . . . all of them. She spun in circles, chest rising and falling in quick succession, eyes watering, blood circulating her body faster than ever before. "Hello?" she cried out, stumbling through the grass, darting her attention in every which way, hoping to find some trace of life. "Is . . . is anyone there? I . . . I'm . . . "

 _Alone,_ spoke the voice in her head. _You're alone. Everyone and everything you hold dear is gone._

Her lips trembled, and she reached into her back pocket for her wand of vine and dragon heartstring core, only to realize, it, too, was nowhere to be found. The brunette looked to the grass, falling to her knees, rubbing both hands along the damp earth in an attempt to find what was missing. But it wasn't there. She searched and searched and searched, and found only dashed hopes and a divine sort of emptiness.

It consumed her tenfold.

"Please . . . " Hermione breathed, slamming her eyes closed to block the tears. "Someone. _Anyone_."

If this was the afterlife, she wanted no part in it. She would rather have been sucked into a dark, empty abyss than suffer eternity alone.

It was her only fear.

Realized.

"Granger? Is . . . Is that you?"

Her eyes flung open, and she looked to the source of the voice. "Malfoy," was the only thing to escape her lips, before she crawled backwards, hair and clothes matted in dirt and blood from the battle. In front of her, about ten paces away, stood a tall, blonde-haired wizard, dressed in Death Eater black, with a tiny tear on his left sleeve, where the Dark Mark should have been, but wasn't. She froze, looking to him.

"What is this place?" he demanded, inching closer. "Where _are_ we?"

"I . . . I don't know," she forced out, hastily clutching onto the closest object to her, which happened to be a twig.

Malfoy's face screwed, twisting with equal parts panic and rage. "What do you mean _you don't know?_ " he exclaimed, maddened, grabbing her by the shoulders. "WHERE ARE WE?"

In a blink, Hermione slashed him with the twig, drawing blood and released by his firm grip. His excruciating cry pounded her eardrums with heartstopping force, in a way that echoed long after, as she sprinted away from him, as fast and as far as her legs could go. Some distance behind, he shouted after her, filling the quiet with a string of threats and obscenities as she lengthened the gap between them. More and more, the wind rippling through her chocolate brown curls and the bruises on her body rubbing against her clothes, until her legs gave out; a safe distance from him.

Hermione collapsed onto the dirt, chest pumping. Only then, did she stop. Below her, the earth was damp, as though rain had just fallen, which she knew to be untrue, and above, the sky was decorated in warm, vibrant hues, as though it were sunrise . . . but that can't have been true either. It was already daylight, by the time Harry and Voldemort unwittingly cast the world in the bright, blinding force of Priori Incantatem.

Unless . . .

 _I'm in hell,_ she realized. _I died, and this is hell. That's why_ he's _here. That's why . . . that's why we're here together._

"No," she cried, quietly. "No, no, no." After everything, after every battle and every brush with death, every loss and every promise of a brighter future, the world decided she didn't deserve a future. "This can't be. This . . . can't be."

But it was, and the longer she spent curled in a ball of anguish, the closer he got.

 _I need to get out of here. I . . . I need to get as far away from him as possible._

She opened her eyes, ready to keep running, because it was the only thing she could do, before a firm hand clapped over her mouth, blocking her cries, as she was lifted off the ground.

"Did you really think I wouldn't find you?" he seethed, restraining her with a surprising amount of strength. Still, she kicked and fought back. "Stop moving! You're only going to make it harder for yourself!"

 _What does he mean? What is he going to do? What is . . ._

Her throat clenched as he began dragging her toward the Great Lake. _No, no, no, no, no!_ With a hard bite on his hand, she managed to free her struggled cries. "You can't! Stop! Let me go!"

"Shut up!" he fired back, screaming the words so loud into her ear, that her body shook. "This is what's going to happen," he told her, concrete in his decision. "I'm going to toss your body into the lake, and you're going to tell me what you find in there. Do you understand?"

"Let me _go!_ " she demanded, elbowing him in the ribs, enough that his grip loosened a little bit. When she tried to do it again, he pinned her to the grass and clasped her wrists above her head, in one hand, using the other to cover her mouth.

In his eyes, she saw pure, unadulterated hatred. And beneath that, fear. He was afraid. Like her, he had no idea where they were, why they were there, or what brought them there.

"You're going to do exactly as I say," he said, straddling her tiny frame. "You're going to go for a nice little swim in that lake and if you survive, we'll at least have one answer."

 _Oh, my God._ The truth dawned on her hard and fast. Suddenly, her eyes began to water. _Please,_ she communicated, using only her eyes. If his suspicions were, in fact, correct, she would die within minutes of entering the lake. _That's what he wants. He hates me as much as I hate him, and he's willing to have me killed because of it._

The reality of it shouldn't have shocked her, considering the fact that he had been standing in line with Voldemort about fifteen minutes ago, waiting to kill her and her friends . . . but this was different. This, wasn't forced on him by his parents or his insane Aunt Bellatrix.

This, was his choice, and his choice alone.

"Stop that," he ordered, disgusted by the sight of her tears. "You're . . . You're Gryffindor for fuck's sake! Find some bloody courage and do as I say!"

Hermione bit back the frustration, trying not to sob in front of him, as he lifted her body upright and leaned her over the edge of the lake. One slip of his fingertips and she would fall in, where a colony of vicious creatures would find her and maim her, for invading their territory. If his suspicions were at all correct, the Giant Squid wouldn't be there to protect her or bring her to safety, and the treaty between the Founders and the merpeople wouldn't exist . . . because if his suspicions were correct, the Founders didn't yet exist.

Hence the wide, vast land, where the castle should have stood, but didn't.

She closed her eyes, shaking as Malfoy bent his bent down to whisper in her ear. "Safe travels," the Slytherin hissed, taking a moment to let her breathe, for what could possibly have been the last time, before allowing her jumper to slide from between his fingertips.

"Wait! Wait, stop!" Hermione cried out, sucking in. "If . . . If you do this, and I die, you'll be alone," she said to him, eyes closed, fearful that he didn't care. "You . . . You'll roam this place alone, from now until Merlin knows when. Do . . . Do you really want to risk that?"

Close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath travel down her back, the young man tightened his grip. "What makes you think I give a damn?" he asked. "Trust me . . . I would much rather be alone, than be stuck here with _you_."

She tensed. "You're lying. I know you're lying."

"Believe me, I'm not."

"You are," Hermione countered, doing what little she could. "You're scared. I saw it in your eyes a moment ago and I can hear it in your voice now. You . . . You don't know where we are, or why we're here. None of it makes sense, and . . . and the only reason you're coming after me is to regain control of an otherwise uncontrollable situation." She breathed in and out, trying and trying and trying. " . . . the moment you toss me into that lake, and the moment I die, is the moment you'll realize how irreversibly alone you are. Soon enough, you'll wish you could hear my Mudblood voice . . . you . . . you'll stay awake at night and pray for another person, another soul." She felt his breathing turn shallow, as the words sunk in. "Face it, Malfoy. You need me."

 _And I need you,_ she quickly realized, terrified.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note: Thoughts?_**


	8. Seven Minutes In Heaven

_**Author's Note: This one has been burning a hole through my documents folder for quite some time. Enjoy!**_

 _ **~Craft Rose**_

* * *

"Wait —" Hermione froze.

It was dark in the broom cupboard, dark enough that her brain was starting to play tricks on her . . . dark enough that she didn't immediately recoil, when he inched closer. Surely he wouldn't _actually_ do it . . . but maybe he would, and maybe she wanted him to. Soon, their seven minutes would be up and there would be no second chances. It was now or never, and she truly despised herself for wanting the former.

"I'm going to kiss you," he said, in a tone that was foreign to her ears. It sounded like he actually _wanted_ to kiss her, as though he thought about it from time to time. . . as though he occasionally wondered how it would feel to let all that tension come to surface in the most reckless way.

Hermione waited breathlessly. _Do it,_ she wanted to say. _Do it before I change my mind._

The door was open to him, and when he leaned down to accept it, in his own indiscreet, lust addled way, there was no turning back. Not that she desired as much. In a matter of seconds, her back was flattened to the stone textured wall and his hands hands were in her hair, lightly yanking on it, as their lips met in a kiss that was anything but gentle. She quickly realized she didn't want him to be gentle. Viktor had been gentle, Ron had been gentle, the boy down the road from her parents' house had been gentle, but she wanted no such restraint from the likes of Draco Malfoy.

Luckily, he didn't plan on showing any.

He kissed her hard and fast, to the point that she couldn't think anymore.

Hermione gasped and tried to keep up, tugging at his shirt collar in an attempt to bring him closer. There was no space left to cover. His body was pressed firmly against hers, and she knew he could feel her heart beating wild and fast, because she could feel his.

If any doubts remained, they were quickly dismissed.

Seven minutes wouldn't be enough.

 _Though, at this rate . . ._

Malfoy dropped his hands down to her hips and hooked an arm around her waist, arching her entire body towards him in a way that turned her brain fuzzy.

She melted a little, kissing him vigorously as he pulled at the buttons on her blouse. In a moment of clarity, she realized what he was doing but she didn't stop him. Blood rushed to her cheeks. She didn't want to stop him, and when he dragged his kiss from her puffy lips to the column of her neck, she thought she might faint.

"You taste . . . like _vanilla_ . . . " he murmured, imparting the words directly on her throat.

When she moaned, he felt it. The vibrations sent shockwaves through his body, which forced him lower down her body, from her neck to her clavicle. He used his teeth there, lightly grazing the bone, whilst confusing her senses with equal parts pleasure and pain.

She gasped twice, brokenly. " _Bastard_."

He smirked against her warm skin, repeating the action again and again, until she begged him never to stop.

It was divine torture, and it was over far too soon.

Hermione froze as a loud buzzer filled the broom cupboard. It was the end buzzer. The seven minutes were over. _But . . ._ She wasn't ready to stop, and judging by the reluctance at which he separated his lips from her body, Malfoy wasn't ready either.

There was a long, drawn out silence between them, as they righted themselves.

The buzzer pounded their eardrums, and yet the silence was deafening.

When voices emerged from the other side of the broom cupboard, Hermione quickly re-buttoned her blouse and looked down to the floor, as the door swung open. She had just enough time to run a couple hands through her hair, tidying it as best she could, before the music and chatter of the party took her senses by storm. They filed out of the broom cupboard and avoided each other the rest of the night.

Roughly one week later, Hermione received a note from an unusual Eagle Owl. There was no name, no greeting, no clear message . . . simply a location.

 _Library._

* * *

 _ **. . . ?**_


	9. Dawn

_**Author's Note: Yet another.**_

 _ **~Craft Rose**_

* * *

"It's nearly dawn," she said, hovering near the door.

Draco glanced over his shoulder and found Granger, dressed and ready for the journey ahead. It would be long and strenuous, and he wasn't sure he could do it, but he had to try. After everything they had been through, he couldn't give up. She wouldn't let him.

"We can't outrun them," he voiced, distantly.

Granger inched away from the door, toward him. "We're not going to run."

He snapped a look at the girl. "What do you mean? If we stay here, we'll _die_."

"We're not going to run and we're not going to stay," she said, unsettling the dust in the air with each step she took. The building was old and dilapidated. It was once home to a Muggle family of five, but the war reduced it to nothing more than a shell of what it used to be.

Draco swallowed, feeling the truth crawl up his throat. "You're mental. We can't win in a fight. Not against _them_. You . . . you've seen what they can do." He dragged his shirt up, to reveal jagged claw marks across his abdomen, healed after one month of excruciating pain. "That was just _one_ of them," he cemented, covering the marks. "Out there . . . there are hundreds, maybe thousands."

"What do you suggest we do?" Granger asked, coming within a foot of him, so close he could see the light scarring across her face and neck. "I'd rather die out there, than hide in barren buildings the rest of my life."

His lip twitched. "You think I'm a coward."

"Yes," she answered, quickly. "I've been waiting five weeks for you to prove me wrong, but all you've managed to do is cower in fear like the others. Don't you get it? _No one_ is coming. _No one_ is going to save us. We're the only ones left."

"That - That's not true. Zabini -"

"Zabini is _dead_." Granger reached into her pack and pulled out a radio. "It's been three weeks since he left to repair the tower, and in that time we haven't heard from him once."

Draco wavered in the silence.

"We need to leave and see what's out there - what's _really_ out there. It's our only chance." She searched through his eyes for some form of understanding. The hardness in her eyes softened, the longer she stood near him. "You're not the only one who's scared."

"Between us, I think I might be."

Granger smiled weakly. "I know you can do this. You know it, too." Her voice was full of conviction, as though she actually meant the words coming out of her mouth. "You've killed one of those things before. You can do it again."

He wasn't sure if he could, but he kept those doubts to himself. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"I'll go with you," he decided, ignoring the jolt of fear in his chest.

She looked to him, deeply. "There's a good chance we'll die out there."

His muscles tightened and then relaxed. "So be it," he said. "It would be an honour to die by your side, Granger."

Something dashed through her eyes, quickly. "And you, Malfoy."

* * *

 _ **. . . ?**_


	10. Mudblood

_**Author's Note: Takes place during the Skirmish at Malfoy Manor.**_

 _ **~Craft Rose**_

* * *

It was only a matter of seconds, she thought. The others would never know what happened, what her final words had been, before the pain seized full control of her body and dragged her down, kicking and screaming, to the place where filthy Mudbloods like her went to die. Her only wish was for it to end soon, for the torture to stop before it destroyed that which she treasured most — her mind.

 _Kill me,_ her eyes begged. _Just kill me._

* * *

 ** _Thoughts?_**


	11. Alabaster

_**Author's Note: I meant to post this one ages ago. Oops!**_

 _ **~Craft Rose**_

* * *

 _War inside my mind_  
 _Drowning in the tides_  
 _Fighting for my life_  
 _I'm satisfied_  
 _Intoxicate my veins_  
 _Make me misbehave_  
 _Be my great escape_  
 _Till we fade away_

 _"Wild Ones" by Bahari_

* * *

Hermione watched as tiny drops of rain rolled down her bedroom window, steered diagonal by the strong wind. It was days before the wedding, days before she was meant to leave home, _leave her family_. Some days, it was hard to look at them without succumbing to that ache in her chest, knowing in her core that those moments could very well have been their last together. Though she didn't tell them often enough, she appreciated their sacrifices and loved them dearly. They were the two hardest working people she had ever known, and with their guidance, she was able to build much the same work ethic and pave her own way in the wizarding world.

Simply put, they were heroes and she knew she might never live to see them again.

"Hermione?"

Recognizing the sound of her father's long strides before he so much as knocked on her door, she fixed her attention away from the window and found him with his favourite sport coat on and the tiniest bit of gray in his dark brown hair.

Hermione smiled, scooting on the window bench to give him room, as he neared. Judging by the look on his face, she sensed there was something on his mind, a matter he wanted to discuss. She was close to both parents, but in different ways. Whilst her mother talked to her about boys and school and plans for the future, her father took the not so easily understood route, and spent a lot of time simply checking up on her.

"You've been quiet these past few weeks," he started, proving to his daughter that she couldn't keep anything from him. "Is everything alright?"

She glanced down. It wasn't easy lying to her parents. In fact she hated it, and did everything in her power to avoid it, but they knew all the right questions to ask and when to ask them. Of course, they were fully aware of her 'adventures' at school, as she would always come home the evidence written in her eyes and mannerisms. The older she grew, the more she had to lie. If they knew the extent of her adventures, the fact that there was a terrorist group with her name on their hit list and an evil tyrant chasing after her best friend, they would have locked her up in her bedroom and thrown away the key, and she wouldn't have blamed them for a second . . . but the others, namely Harry, were relying on her and she was prepared to do anything, _whatever it takes to ensure his safety_.

That in mind, she looked to her kind father and smiled again. "Everything's fine," she lied. "I'm just nervous about school. My final year is coming up."

He nodded along. "Of course, of course. I imagine you have an eventful year ahead of you."

A clap of thunder awoke her senses as they began to drift. "Yes," she voiced, distantly. "Eventful is the best way to put it."

 _ **Five Hours**_

She was in bed when the sound of footsteps emerged on the far side of the corridor. Because her parents were away for their anniversary, enjoying a show on the West End followed by dinner at their favourite restaurant, she knew in her heart that it can't have been them.

Hermione lifted the duvet from her body and grabbed her wand from the nightstand, looking to the door which had been left ajar a few inches. She always did that in case of emergency. There was one time her door was locked overnight and a fire broke out in the lower levels of the house. She was only eight years old at the time and she nearly lost her life because the lock jammed and the fire grew bigger and bigger, threatening to consume her in those bright, blinding flames.

That night, however, there was no fire.

Her eyes drifted to the clock which read midnight. _Mum and Dad aren't meant to be home for at least another hour,_ she realized.

Because she was seventeen, the idea that they would have sent someone to check up on her was more than unlikely. They stopped hiring babysitters when she was nine. There was no chance in hell they would have done something so ludicrous when she was legally of age. Plus, she was a witch for crying out loud! A strong, skilled witch with a lethal weapon at her disposal and the right to use it whenever she pleased. _Merlin, I really do love being seventeen._

That in mind, and the fact that there was a war raging on, she didn't believe for a second that the footsteps belonged to a friend or family member. No, it had to have been a Death Eater, which meant she and possibly her parents were in unthinkable danger. She had to find them and send them as far away as humanly possible. The plan was to do it the night before she left for Bill and Fleur's wedding, but time was no longer on her side. She had to think fast and act even faster.

Wand at the ready and heart pounding against her ribcage, she stepped slowly towards the door and took a closer look. There were footsteps and voices coming from the guest bedroom. _More than one person._ She breathed deeply, glancing back for only a moment to look at the line of photographs spread out across the desk. Photographs of her family and her friends — the people she loved most in the world and couldn't live without. Her eyes landed on the one of her, Harry and Ron in Hogsmeade. It was simple, but it was the most recent. Smiles. Laughter.

A jolt of panic went through her. _I might never see them again. I might die right here, in this house . . . alone._ The thought of it brought warm tears to her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away. If she survived the night, she would plan a more suitable time to cry. _Right now, I have to face the intruders._

Without another second of thought behind it, Hermione carefully opened the door wider, relieved when the hinges didn't squeak, and slowly made her way down the corridor. One look through the window in the front of the house and she could see that her parents' car wasn't there, which was as big an indication as any that the people in the guest room weren't them. That in mind, she clasped her free hand around the knob of the door leading into the guest room and opened it.

"Oh, my word! Hermione, dear!"

The brunette gasped, tripping over her feet and landing flat on her arse as Penelope and Rowan Granger rushed to cover themselves. "I'm so sorry! I thought you were burglars or -"

"It's alright, dear," Rowan voiced. "We . . . should have told you we'd be home a little early."

One hand over her eyes and the other struggling to feel for the door so she could leave, she was helpless to keep her balance. "Why isn't your car here?" she demanded. "And why are you in the _guest_ bedroom?"

Penelope, the one who saw their daughter first, was now calm enough to speak. "We've had a bit to drink," she carefully explained. "We took a taxi home, and well . . . the guest bedroom was the closest one available to us when we returned . . . "

Hermione cringed. "Okay, well, you two kids have fun. I'm just going to go claw my eyes out," she half-joked. "Night."

Less than a second later, she stood in the long, empty corridor, and breathed out. It could have been the residual shock or the nausea talking, but she would much rather have found a couple of no good Death Eaters in there, than her parents — _in that way_. She gagged thinking about it and quickly made her way through the corridor, to her own bedroom.

So her parents were safe. That was good.

Mildly relieved, but still mostly disgusted, Hermione climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling.

The incident would make for an awkward morning, she was sure. Penelope would try to talk to Hermione about it over breakfast in an effort to make sure she wasn't permanently scarred, and then Rowan would do the same later in the day. Dinnertime, most likely.

Suffice it to say, she knew her parents like the back of her hand.

And a few minutes later, when her eyes started to close and she rolled to her side, another jolt of panic went through her, but this one had nothing to do with the guest bedroom. It had to do with the tall, dark figure in front of her window, and the silvery demon-eyed mask.

 _No . . ._

Hermione leaped out of bed the moment the first spell left his lips. Narrowly evading the curse, she fell hard against the wooden floor, directly on her wrist, and whimpered, knowing the sound of a broken bone when she heard it. Still, she quickly summoned her wand and blocked the next curse that came hurtling towards her. It connected with her wardrobe which broke apart in large jagged pieces, one of which she threw at him and used as a distraction, as she took cover behind her desk which she had fortified with magic years ago to hold her books without breaking.

" _Stupefy!_ " Hermione shouted.

The nameless Death Eater tucked and rolled out of the way, and the spell shattered her bedroom window, causing fresh waves of rain to pound hard against the floor.

Because her parents hadn't come running through the door, trying to save her from this madman, she was almost certain her room had been soundproofed with magic. Peculiar thing for an evil wizard to have done, she thought. What were a couple of muggle dentists to one of Voldemort's allies? Surely the Death Eater wasn't threatened by her parents. He must have soundproofed the room for different reasons. Perhaps so he wouldn't have to kill them, too.

The thought of it made her wonder, but she didn't dwell on it long.

" _Oppugno!_ " she shouted, sending her desk chair flying at the Death Eater, making contact.

He groaned and lost his footing, stumbling against the wall and blocking her next attack, only to send one of his own.

" _Levicorpus!_ "

Hermione was too late, mid-way through casting her shield charm as her body shot up, roughly a meter above the floor and then down, onto the bed.

A sharp cry broke through her lips as she landed on a jagged piece of wood. It must have fallen on the bed when her wardrobe exploded. Within that same second, she felt warmth down her side and glanced down, taking note of the blood. It gushed out of the fresh wound on her side, where the wardrobe fragment was lodged. When she pulled it out, she thought she might faint from the pain, but the adrenaline helped in that department.

She made motion to fling another spell at him, but he disarmed her and rendered her immobile in one fluid motion. Constricted by the Body Binding Curse, her efforts to fight back were futile at best. Still, she was able to jerk out of the way as he neared.

"Don't touch me!" Hermione shouted through gritted teeth, the energy in her body depleting as she bled out. "Don't . . . don't touch me." Her eyes began to flutter, weighing heavy. She was losing consciousness — fast.

Oblivious to the wound until then, the Death Eater looked down at her side, where the blood was thick and red.

She braced herself, readying her mind and body for what was surely about to happen. He would deliver one final blow and she would either die right then or later in the night, after he tortured her for information on Harry.

" _Vulnera Sanentur,_ " the Death Eater murmured, suddenly.

Hermione looked at him, shocked into silence as magic streamed from the tip of his wand and surged through her wound, healing it. In a matter of seconds, the pain and the dizziness was gone, and all that remained were the blood stains, the rain and the broken furniture. She stared at the masked man, eyes wide and skeptical.

"Who are you?" she asked, because it was the first question that came to mind.

He kept silent, hovering over her in that menacing way. If he wanted to, he could have sucked the life out of her body and left her motionless in bed, for her parents to find in the morning . . . but he didn't. Instead, he traced the tip of his wand down her arm and found the spot on her wrist that was broken.

This time, he used wordless magic to heal the damage.

Her stomach lurched as the bone snapped back into place.

 _Perhaps Voldemort asked his minion to bring me in one piece, no harm done so he could make a game out of me in front of the others._

No matter what the truth was, the time to ask was cut short as the Death Eater pocketed his wand and used his leather gloved hands to lower the demon-eyed mask.

Alabaster skin.

Blonde hair.

Grey eyes.

She had time to utter just two syllables. " _Malfoy_."

* * *

 **Good? Bad?**

 **This is supposed to be a sister fic to "Ours is the Night" . . . kind of a role reversal, I guess. Doesn't take place in the same reality, though.**


	12. Library

**Author's Note: This one's kind of fun. Definitely more of a lighthearted feel to it. Enjoy!**

 **~Craft Rose**

* * *

"Do you want to know something, Granger?"

She glanced up at the sound of his voice, looking to the chair across from hers, on the other side of the study table, to see that it had been filled by Malfoy. The Quill drooped down between her fingers a little and she narrowed her eyes at him, a note of skepticism in them, after which she refocused on the Potions homework.

"I caught your boyfriend snogging the daylights out of Lavender Brown in the first floor corridor last night," Malfoy continued, almost in spite of the silent treatment she was giving him. "Isn't that something?"

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. If Malfoy thought, for even a second, that she didn't know of Ron and Lavender's situation, he was sorely mistaken. She, along with the rest of House Gryffindor, were fully aware of the exhibitionist union between them. The first incident was over a week ago, in the Gryffindor Common Room, and although, at the time, she reacted horribly to it, she had since learned to move on and focused her attention on more important matters — like homework.

Slightly unsettled by her reaction, or lack thereof, Malfoy folded his arms. "You do know everyone thinks he's a git, don't you?"

Her bottom lip twitched. "I don't care," she said, if only to shut him up. She dipped her Quill into the small pot of ink by her parchment and continued writing. "What Ron chooses to do is his business, not mine."

"You wouldn't rather he chose you?"

She sighed heavily, placing her Quill neatly into the ink pot before looking across the table, directly at Malfoy. "Why do you care? What do mine and Ron's personal affairs have anything to do with you?"

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, nonchalant. "Well, for one, I find it rather difficult to pick on you when you're all mopey and loner-like."

She lifted an eyebrow at him.

"No, no, it's not — I don't _care_ ," he quickly said, cringing at the thought. "It's just — I would prefer to have something to do with your shit mood. It's not fun picking on someone who's already depressed."

"I'm _not_ depressed."

He scoffed at the idea. "You are, and you're doing a crap job at hiding it."

"Oh, is that so?" she asked, sarcastically. "Well, tell me, then, Malfoy. What would you do in my situation? How would _you_ hide it?"

"Simple," he said, the faintest smirk on his lips. "I wouldn't hide it at all. I'd get even."

Hermione snorted. "You're not suggesting that I find some random bloke and snog the daylights out of him in front of Ron, are you?"

"You know I am."

"Well that's just pathetic. Why would I degrade myself like that?"

"You find the idea of snogging someone besides him, degrading?"

" _No_ ," she said, curtly. "I find the idea of snogging someone to make someone else jealous, degrading."

Malfoy nodded at that, halfway. "It doesn't have to solely be for that purpose. You _could_ choose someone you actually _want_ to snog . . . someone who would make it worth your while."

A beat of silence followed, wherein Hermione lifted an eyebrow at him, again. This time, however, he didn't cut in to deny the implication.

"What makes you think I want to snog you?" she asked, if only to defer the silence that followed and the weird knot in her chest that came along with it.

Seemingly unsurprised by the question, Malfoy leaned forward, his elbows on the table as he looked to her, neither smirking nor smiling — just staring. "Maybe this is my backwards way of asking," he suggested, a dash of sincerity in his eyes as though this wasn't some bizarre little joke.

Hermione didn't say anything for a moment, trying to decide whether she should grab her things and leave the library, or dive a little deeper, as mental as it sounded.

"Okay," she said. "Make it worth my while."

* * *

 **What do you think?**


	13. Confession

**A/N: This one is self-explanatory.**

* * *

Draco took to the library, books in hand and a sense of purpose in his stride. In due time, his mates would know what he was up to — everyone would. Though he was not allowed to tell them or speak a word of it out loud, he had a feeling they knew. Perhaps not Crabbe and Goyle, nor Pansy, for that matter, but Blaise and Nott were clever enough to figure it out.

The gist was simple.

Whilst the majority of his housemates traveled and spent time with family over the summer, he had taken the mark. The Dark Mark, that is.

 _It's an honour_ , the others had told him; all except his mother. _You were handpicked for a reason._

As a matter of fact, he was handpicked for a reason, but it wasn't a good one. Lucius had failed The Dark Lord, and for that reason, Draco, a boy of sixteen, was thrust into the circle of Death Eaters and forced to obey the only man who had ever made the wizarding world shake in terror. Grindelwald paved the way, of course, but there was no comparison to Lord Voldemort; to the man whose soul was pieces and would never again be whole.

That in mind, Draco hid in the library, behind the tall shelves and the shadows they provided. It was late — nearly curfew, in fact — but he didn't care. Things like that didn't matter to him anymore. Curfew, Quidditch, friends, etc. School had become one distraction after another and he didn't care to entertain the trivialities that came with it.

The only thing that mattered to him was survival.

"You're late," murmured an unexpected voice — a witch, he quickly realized.

The book in his hands slipped an inch or two, as he stood frozen in the darkness. It was ten o'clock, which meant the library was closed to students and the torches on the walls were extinguished. The only light came from the moon, faint compared to the sun or the fireplaces that usually burned in the background. It so happened that he wasn't near a window, and that he'd no idea who was talking to him, or what on earth they were talking about.

Last he checked, he hadn't agreed to meet anyone in the library.

Draco said nothing in response, choosing simply to face away, heart beating fast as the witch calmly approached. The sound of her footsteps echoed between them like a bridge, punctuated by the soft _click_ of heels against hardwood.

Seconds turned into minutes before she stopped, frozen in shock as though she had only just realized he wasn't who she thought he was.

Although it was dark in the library, he imagined his blonde hair reflected what little light there was.

A deafening silence filled the atmosphere.

Draco waited for her to do something . . . to scurry away or to excuse the confusion in one of those disjointed speeches that teenaged girls loved so much but she chose neither course of action. Instead, she tapped him on the shoulder and, as though his legs had a life of their own, he turned around.

The moment he laid eyes on her, his body seized up and he stood there, speechless.

The _tick, tock_ of his wristwatch filled the empty space and he simply breathed, in and out, bringing oxygen to his brain as it turned fuzzy.

"Granger," he uttered, because it was the only thing he could manage.

In front of him, about twelve inches away, stood the bright, brown-haired witch he and his friends had teased so mercilessly over the years. Only, she wasn't seated in a desk with her hand raised, and they weren't in the midst of a lesson. They were in the library, just the two of them, and the look in her eyes told him, she knew something she shouldn't.

"What do you want?" he demanded, if only to dismiss whatever it was she thought she knew about him.

Her mouth fell open, as if to retort with an equally biting response, but those words never came to be. Yet again, she proved him wrong and forced his back against the bookshelf as she took a small step closer.

"I know your secret," she voiced, whispering the words so faintly it took a moment for him to realize she had actually spoken.

Out of instinct, he reached for his wand, but the brunette clasped a hand around his wrist before he could point the damn thing at her and handle the situation. His eyes darted down, to where they connected, and his throat clenched.

She took another step forward, close enough that he caught scent of her body wash. It was . . . light and understated, and it tore at his defences like a knife through silk.

"Since I know your secret, it's only fair that you know one of mine," she carried on to say, leaning close enough for him to realize exactly _what_ her secret was . . . and exactly how crucial it was that it remain hidden in the depths of the library.

There was nothing he could do or say apart from four syllables that he neglected to utter until that very moment. " _Hermione_ . . ." Draco breathed, catching the motion of her body with the yearning in his, as she pressed a confession directly onto his lips.

It terrified him, how much he needed it.

* * *

 **And then he woke up from his fever dream and realized none of it was real lollll**

 **Kidding**

 **. . . or am I?**


	14. Open Door Policy

**A/N: Short, but to the point. At least I hope lol. Also, if you haven't read the drabble before this (titled "Confession") I suggest you do so. I posted them minutes apart, so it's easy to miss.**

Hermione gasped, utterly aghast as Malfoy lifted the knickers she thought she lost, with the pointy end of his wand.

"You left this here last night," he explained, unbothered by the fact that the door to his office was open, meaning anyone could have walked in and spotted them in the most precarious of situations.

She quickly rushed forward and snatched it from his wand, tossing a look over her shoulder before cramping the lace knickers in her palm and racing out of the office, cheeks aflame.


	15. Eyes On You

Draco sat in the dark, nursing a fire whiskey neat because it was the only alcoholic beverage available to him. Suffice it to say, he couldn't wait to go home and open a new bottle of Quintin Black. _I've earned it,_ he decided. Yet there he was, sat on _her_ sofa, drinking _her_ whiskey, waiting in the silence of _her_ home.

Surprisingly, spying on Hermione Granger was far from his worst assignment. The worst one involved three months in a POW camp and an Antipodean Opaleye with a particularly bad temper, so in the grand scheme of things he should have rejoiced when he was hired to monitor the monotony of Granger's daily life.

When she didn't have her nose buried in the spine of a ridiculously thick book, she was in the kitchen heating up an oven dinner or ordering delivery from the Chinese restaurant down the road. To think Hermione Granger had been capable of brewing Polyjuice Potion at age twelve but couldn't toss together a stir fry without burning her house to the ground, was beyond imagination.

He also found it strange that she never had any guests over to visit. No friends, no family, no dates. Just her, a book, and something to nibble on. Such a quiet, meaningless life, compared to what the world expected from someone so . . . capable.

Part of him wondered where it all went wrong, what happened to her and when, but he tried not to waste too much time thinking about it. At the end of the day, he had a job to do, a contract to which he was bound, and it had nothing to do with her personal life. It did, however, have to do with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's latest investigation, which happened to be against the man who hired him to spy on her.

Lo and behold, Hermione Granger was leading the investigation, and Draco was in her house, waiting as she unlocked the front door from the outside.

It was a long day, filled with many court appearances and debriefings, he was sure, but it was about to come to a slow, brutal halt.

* * *

Hermione stopped by the front door, sifting through her handbag with one hand, in search for her key, whilst using the other to muffle her yawn.

It seemed fifteen hours at work was a bit much even for her. She loved her job to pieces and had sacrificed many things to get where she was, but the bureaucracy of it all was beginning to eat away at her.

It was difficult to get things done and make a difference in wizarding Britain, when half the department believed she didn't belong in the big leagues and the other half wanted to bend her over a desk. It was the price of being a woman, she supposed, a young, determined, intellectual woman who didn't take no for an answer. It wasn't at all fair but it was her life and she _wanted_ it so bad . . . to be an Auror, to fight the injustice that she and her friends suffered during the war. Constant doubt, constant backlash. One uphill battle after the next, and no destination in sight.

Just a dream.

A wild, crazy dream.

To think she had once imagined how easy it would be to walk into work, get things done, and smile as sunlight broke through the clouds was, decidedly embarrassing. She quickly learned the truth of the job, and that a person in her position, a woman who stood by Harry Potter through every battle, painted her as nothing more than a cheesy headline in a gossip column.

She fought the harassment at work, but there was no way to fight the media. If they chose to focus on her body shape, her weight, her makeup, her clothes, and her sex life, instead of her many accomplishments, there was nothing she could do about it. Most people believed she was Harry's mistress, an escape from his life with Ginny and their infant son, James. It was vile and untrue in every which way, but it _was_ the public perception and would always be.

It was the reason she and Harry couldn't be seen together anymore. In or outside of the office. Not until Hermione found a steady relationship, anyway.

That, was a different issue altogether.

Her evenings weren't spent in the company of a significant other. No, she preferred to be alone, to come home to the quiet, the solitude, and disappear into the world of Jane Austen, Thomas Hardy and Charles Dickens to name a few.

That night, she had a new a book to read and an oven dinner with her name on it.

Hermione slid her key into the lock and twisted, relieved at the sound of that _click,_ as the door opened. At home, she wasn't a sex object for the media to fuss over. At home, she was just Hermione, and being Hermione felt great.

Most of the time.

* * *

Draco navigated through the darkness and found her silhouette in the foyer.

Normally, he watched her through the windows from a distance. A voyeur into the private moments of her life. Because she lived in a gated community, there were no photographers or journalists there, to hound her for details on investigations nor the ins and outs of what it meant to be a modern witch. He figured that was the reason she kept the blinds open, because it was safe to do so and for her that was rare. She was an important person, with an important job, and somehow managed to cross other important people with important jobs.

It didn't surprise him for a second when he discovered he wasn't the only watching her. No, there was someone else, another pair of eyes and ears. But this person was not hired to spy on her and obtain information like he was. No, their mission was a little different.

They meant harm.

* * *

Hermione climbed the stairs and made her way to the second floor, slowly tugging off her high heel shoes, her dress, and the pins in her hair — everything society forced on her and simultaneously ridiculed her for. The irony was amusing, but she was too tired to laugh.

As per, she felt a bath was in order. A long, hot bath. It seemed all the bureaucratic bullshit she endured during the day had left kinks in her back.

"Hmm," she thought out loud. "Maybe I should order in tonight."

An oven dinner didn't sound very appetizing, not that it ever did.

That in mind, she started the bath and grabbed the mobile phone that she used to contact her parents. She had them and _Szechuan Palace_ on speed dial, the latter of which knew her order as though she were one of the family.

"Hello, it's Hermione. How are you, Min? Oh, that's good to hear! I'm glad it went well and I'm deeply sorry I couldn't be there on your big day. Next week? I'll have to check my schedule but I'll let you know. Yes, the usual order will do just fine — and tell Cheng I said hello! Oh, no. I'm sure it's just the flu. Of course, of course. Okay, sounds great. I'll talk to you soon. Thanks."

Hermione exhaled, flipping her mobile phone closed and balancing it on the basin of her bathroom sink as she stared into the mirror.

* * *

Draco waited in the shadows, just watching. The bathroom door had been left open an inch or two, enough that he could see her without _seeing_ her. She deviated from her usual Tuesday routine and ordered Chinese. Tuesdays weren't Chinese delivery days. Tuesdays were oven dinner days. Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. Part of him was surprised by the change in plan, excited in a way that only someone of his profession could be. Any normal person would have overlooked this small detail . . . but he knew Hermione Granger well enough to discern that it was her gut instinct. There was no doubt in his mind that her subconscious had come out to play, that an ounce of her _knew_ she was in trouble, and therefore went against the grain.

Roughly thirty minutes later, there was a knock on her front door.

* * *

She fastened her bathrobe, hair dripping wet as she climbed down the stairs. It was rare that her food arrived sooner than forty minutes, but not completely unheard of. Her stomach growled thinking about it. She hadn't eaten anything since breakfast and strongly considered the option of eating in the bath.

Was it a disgusting habit? Yes.

Did she care? No.

"Hello, Cheng! Congratulations on the wedding. I heard the ceremony was lovely," she started, having opened the door to find the usual delivery man. He and his live-in girlfriend-turned-wife owned and operated _Szechuan Palace_ together, and were very kind to the lonely brunette who couldn't get enough of their tea-smoked duck and Mapo tofu. "Cheng?"

Hermione looked to him, her smily slowly fading as the man stood perfectly still, a vacant stare in his eyes.

"Cheng, are you OK?" she asked, a tight knot in her stomach as she waited for the man to say or do something. She quickly noticed he had no delivery bag in his hands. There was no food, no car in her driveway and no sign to indicate that he was cognizant of the words she was speaking. "Okay, wait right here. I'll be right back. I'm just going to give Min a quick ring and see if —"

Cheng teetered forward, forcing the words down Hermione's throat, as he wrapped his hands around it and choked her down to the floor.

Her body seized in shock.

There was no time to waste. She had to act fast. She had to summon her wand and fight, but her limbs were trapped, and the oxygen rushed out of her as quickly as the blood rushed in. She wheezed and writhed, head seconds from bursting.

Cheng clasped his hands tighter around her neck, choking the life out of her as his veins turned black and his eyes rolled to the back of his skull.

Hermione knew the curse and its dangers well enough to determine the fact that, if she didn't act fast enough, the kind and considerate Min would soon be a widow.

An innocent muggle couple would be torn apart because of her, because someone wanted her dead and cursed a delivery man to do the job.

 _I'm going to die._

 _We're both going to die._

* * *

So the bastard sent someone in his stead. Bloody coward. Draco would never have forced anyone to his dirty work. If he was ordered to kill his target, he made sure to do it on his own. That was the job. That was the risk and the reward.

" _Stupefy!_ "

The delivery man froze, sucking in shortly before his body collapsed on top of the target. Draco pocketed his wand and stepped forward, directly out of the shadows from where he had watched the scene unfold. There was no mistaking it. Someone had placed a hit on Hermione Granger and he had the sinking suspicion that this attack was only the first.

Without a moment to spare, he murmured a few spells and reversed the curse that had been placed on the delivery whose name was apparently Cheng. It would take at least an hour or two to prod through Cheng's memory and locate the information needed to find the person responsible, the one who had cursed the muggle to begin with.

Before he could do any of that, he had to make sure the target was OK.

Draco bent down and looked Hermione Granger in the eyes as she blinked in and out of consciousness.

It was risky to interact with targets, to show his face unless he meant to kill them, but he figured he could always alter her memory to forget the incident. Cheng and Min, too. The wife would worry if her husband took much longer. It was no matter. Memory alterations were common in Draco's line of work, and he was particularly good at them.

Knowing it was the only option, he closed the front door and bound Cheng for safe measure, before looking down at Granger.

Her eyes blinked open, adjusting to the darkness. "Am I . . . alive?"

"Yes," he uttered, forcing the nerves out of his chest and his eyes on the witch, the one he'd been watching for months. "You've been attacked," he said, withdrawing a vial of Revive Potion and handing it to her. "Here. Drink this."

"What . . . what is it? Who are you?"

"Just drink. You'll feel better."

There was a spark of doubt in her dazed, brown eyes, but she knocked the potion back, anyway. Within seconds, the energy returned to her body and she groaned.

"My neck," she choked out. "It hurts to . . . to talk . . . to . . . to _breathe_."

Okay, so she clearly wasn't used to hands on combat. That was fine.

Draco knelt down and examined the witch's neck. At the moment it was red, but it would get darker in the morning, perhaps a purplish colour. He would have to sort that out before altering her memory. Essence of Dittany would do the trick. It was a quick fix, but a risky one. There was a scent to dittany, a scent he was sure Granger would recognize in the morning, when she woke up with no memory of what really happened the night before.

" _Malfoy_." Her lips quivered and her eyes widened as she finally noticed him. "You — What —"

"I need you to stay calm," he interjected. "Listen carefully, do you understand?"

The wheels in her mind started turning. " _You're_ here and I was attacked but . . . but it can't have been you because . . . because you revived me . . . but . . ."

"Listen to me, Granger. You're in a lot of danger. I don't know who's after you, but I do know what happened tonight is only the start. They will come after you again, stronger next time."

Her chest contracted. "What are you talking about? Why are you here? I — I'm an Auror. I can defend myself against —"

"You're not listening to me," Draco cut in, quickly losing patience. With no option, he grabbed the witch by her shoulders and looked her directly in the eyes. "You are in danger. These people aren't street criminals. They are professionals. It's their job to do things like this, fast and undetected."

There was a brush of silence as his words resonated.

Granger swallowed hard, a tearful shine to her eyes. "And how do you know all of this?"

Draco had never been in this situation before, so he took the easiest route. "I know, because I'm one of them," he carefully said, causing shock to ripple through every inch of her body.


	16. Escort

**A/N: Okay, so, this was supposed to be a full length one-shot, but I now have no idea where to go with it so here it is.**

 **Bulgarian phrases were translated using google translate. I apologize ahead of time if the grammar is off or straight up incorrect. If so, please correct me. Thanks!**

* * *

Hermione waited on the platform as the six o'clock train from Paris screeched to a slow, heavy stop, bringing with it a gust of wintry air that rippled through her hair. She inhaled sharply and faced away, head sinking into the collar of her peacoat. On a normal day, she would have been tucked away in her cubicle on the fifth level of the British Ministry, where the Department of International Magical Cooperation was located, but her duties had since changed. The Head of the Department, Percy Weasley, had interviewed her for a higher position the previous morning and hired her on the spot. Though she was beyond happy to leave her cubicle and entry-level duties behind, a small part of her had hoped for something a little more challenging than escorting foreign dignitaries around the city.

Regardless, it was a good opportunity.

She held up a sign that simply read _DM_ as the passengers stepped off the train and onto the platform. The majority were greeted by family and significant others, but there was one — a sharply dressed man with pale blonde hair and a slim briefcase — that hung back a moment as people weaved around him.

Within seconds she recognized the man, ignoring the lump in her throat as his gaze panned in her direction.

 _No, no, no. Not you. Please, no. I worked too damn hard for this promotion to have my first day wasted on —_

"Granger," he said as he approached, nodding hello to her in a surprisingly pleasant manner.

She stood there in complete and utter silence, cursing herself for not figuring it out sooner. There can't have been that many high ranking wizards with the initials DM. She should have known, and would have, had it not been for the first day jitters.

"Malfoy," she managed to say, tucking the sign under her arm, deciding it was best to take the formal approach. "Welcome back to London. The Head of International Magical Cooperation, Mr. Percy Weasley, sends his best regards and looks forward to meeting with you this evening at the charity ball." With a deep breath, and a soft reminder that this was temporary, she continued. "If you'll follow me, I'd be happy to escort you to Hotel Ambrosius, your accommodation for the weekend."

There was a moment of silence wherein he simply looked at her as if trying to find the source of her obvious discomfort, before he blinked it away. "Happy to oblige," he said, following her lead.

Without another word, she escorted him onto the lift and pushed the button marked 'G' for Ground Floor.

Her eyes darted to him as the doors slid closed. One look at his attire and she was able to discern the fact that he had done well for himself since the war, despite the world's opinion of him and his former affiliations. His suit was pressed and his hair was in pristine condition, not a strand out of place.

Some might have called him flawless, but she didn't dare.

"So you're under Percy Weasley, then?" he asked, looking to her.

She focused her attention on the doors. "I am, yes."

"How's that working out for you?"

"Quite well, thanks."

"You're not the least bit annoyed that he sent you to escort me around London?"

"No."

"Hmm." He nodded in silent thought, jogging to keep up with her as the doors slid open.

To Hermione's satisfaction, there weren't many people at the train station as it was still quite early in the day, which made for a swift, relatively painless journey to the doors. There were taxis and town cars idled near the curb out front, but she walked right past them and onto the crosswalk, tossing a look over her shoulder to find that Malfoy was still firmly on her heels.

"Is there a reason we're in such a hurry?" he asked, clutching his briefcase as they crossed the intersection. Given the time of day, it was fairly congested. A few cars honked at the pedestrians to get a move on, causing the blonde to jump.

Hermione knew it was rude to laugh, but she wanted to so badly.

"No, not really. I assumed after such a long and strenuous journey, you would want to check in to your hotel room and freshen up as soon as possible."

Malfoy lifted an eyebrow at her, picking up on the subtle shade. "How thoughtful of you," he commented, stress lines evening out as they turned the corner, entering a nicknack shop that smelled strongly of sweets.

The shopkeeper, an elderly woman with grey hair and a wand tucked into her apron that she didn't bother to hide, smiled hello to Hermione and unlocked the backdoor for them.

"The powder is on the mantlepiece, dears. Safe travels to you both," she intimated.

The brunette nodded her head in thanks and opened the door, unsurprised when her charge waltzed through without being invited to do so.

The backroom was filled with shipment boxes and miscellaneous items, but around the corner there was a fireplace. It was tall and gilded, identical to the fireplaces in the Atrium of the Ministry headquarters.

"After you," Hermione gestured, as though it were a challenge.

His eyes narrowed, a touch of skepticism in them, before he stepped forth and took a handful of powder. "Hotel Ambrosius!" he enunciated, vanishing into the bright, emerald flames.

Mildly disappointed that he remembered the name of the hotel down to the very last syllable, Hermione sighed and followed his lead. Within seconds, her body was transported from the backroom of the nicknack shop, to the stylish lobby of Hotel Ambrosius. Startled by the change in scenery, it took a few moments for her adjust, after which she found Malfoy queued up.

She suspected it wasn't his first time there. One of the perky desk clerks winked at him as though they were _closely_ acquainted — or had been for a night, at least.

Hermione cringed, reluctantly finding his side as the queue moved forward.

Having just noticed her, he faced the brunette and immediately snickered. "You, er, you have a bit of soot on your . . ."

She tensed, quickly brushing her nose. "Thanks . . . I think."

"Not a problem," he said, lips sliding into a smirk as they reached the front of the queue.

"Hello! Welcome to Hotel Ambrosius. My name is Bella. How may I be of service to you today?" asked the desk clerk, taking no measures to hide her enthusiasm for a certain blonde. "It might interest you to know that we have recently upgraded our rooms to hardwood floors only, no carpets, and a direct connection to Diagon Alley via Floo Network. In case you're interested in a bit of shopping, I hear the forecast for tomorrow is sunny, so no need for a raincoat."

Hermione gaped, horrified to have understood every last detail of what the desk clerk — Bella, apparently — had intimated to Malfoy. _No carpets. No need for a raincoat._ "Bloody hell," she uttered, out loud. The other two looked at her, clearly having forgotten that she was there at all. Embarrassed, she quickly snapped out of it and stepped forward. "There should be a reservation for Draco Malfoy, owled in by _the_ Department of International Magical Cooperation."

Bella flicked a polite but forced smile at Hermione. "Right away," she said, turning the pages of the reservation book with her wand before landing on the right one. "Ah, here it is. A luxury suite with luggage delivery in thirty minutes time."

"Brilliant."

Once that was done, Hermione mumbled thanks to the desk clerk and followed her directions to the lifts. They were located in a long, narrow corridor and manned by attendants like the ones at the Ministry.

She faced Malfoy as one of the lifts arrived. "Alright, well I'm sure you can find your way from here. I'll come back in the evening to escort you to the ball via town car."

To her delight, Malfoy got a right kick out of the last bit and nodded thanks, taking the room key as she handed it to him.

 ** _Evening_**

 _You are_

 _cordially invited_

 _to_

 _The first annual Nonmagic Society Charity Ball_

 _hosted by_

 _The British Ministry of Magic_

"You look fine," Hermione assured him.

"I look like a twat."

"You don't. Stop fussing," she chided, swatting Harry's hand away as he attempted to loosen the collar on his dress robes. It had been ten years since the Yule Ball and he still acted like a complete child when it came to formal dress, but she loved him for it.

They arrived together, seeing as Percy relieved Hermione of her directive to escort Malfoy to the charity ball. She couldn't have been happier for it, though she was a little curious as to why Percy had changed his mind the day of.

"Do you think Malfoy complained that I was rude to him?" she asked, suddenly worried that she crossed her boss on the first day of her promotion.

Harry shrugged, nodding thanks to the doorman as they entered the lobby. "I don't know. _Were_ you rude to him?"

She scrunched her mouth, trying not to frown as there were photographers in every corner, camera flashes blinking all over the place as she and Harry arrived. "Maybe a little?"

" _Hermione_."

"What? He was rude to me first," she reasoned, as though they were fifteen all over again. "Can you believe he had the nerve to ask if I was annoyed, because I had to escort him to his hotel? Like he's really that important . . ."

" _Were_ you annoyed?" Harry asked, offering his arm to her and nodding hello to someone from his department as they walked past.

Hermione grimaced. "That's not the point."

"I'm sure he was just trying to make light of the situation," her friend furthered.

She opened her mouth to argue his point, but nothing came out. Perhaps Harry was right. Either way, there was a function to attend, dances to be danced and donations to collect for the Nonmagic Society of Great Britain.

The ball was a charity fundraiser in support of Squibs and other nonmagic persons whose magical disabilities had been neglected by the wizarding community for far too long. Since the war, countless studies and research projects aimed at reversing the disability gained momentum, but there was still the matter of funding. That was where the ball came into play.

Given that it was in support of nonmagic people, the organizers though it would be nice to invite guests for an evening free of magic — kindly encouraging them to leave their wands at the door, where they would be guarded throughout the night, and use nonmagic transportation to arrive and depart.

Furthermore, it was a black tie function in which everyone was asked to donate a minimum of five hundred Galleons in support of the Nonmagic Society. Not a bad sum, considering most guests were grotesquely rich and would undoubtedly cough up an extra three or four hundred — _at least._

Contributors from around the world came together in support: Quidditch players, celebrity types, businesspeople, old wealth and high ranking officials.

Draco Malfoy was amongst them, there on behalf of his family. It was unclear what he did for a living, but Hermione figured it had something to do with investing his inheritance wisely as opposed to blowing it away like his friends did.

Viktor Krum was also there, with his wife Nina, of course.

Hermione waved hello to them, receiving the cold shoulder from Nina — a normal occurrence — whereas Viktor waved back and motioned for her to come over.

"This should be interesting," Harry snorted, receiving a light nudge from his 'date' as they weaved through the crowd and met Viktor and Nina on the other side.

"Herm-own-ninny! Harry!" Viktor exclaimed, embracing them with his big arms. "I am so pleased to see you both here."

Hermione's eyes widened and she squealed, exchanging a look of amusement with Harry as Viktor released them. "It's good to see you, too," she said, looking from him to the witch at his side. "And you, Nina. You look very nice tonight."

"Yes, hello," Nina said in response, positively icy. She then looked to her husband. "We dance now."

Viktor smiled uncomfortably. "Po-kŭsno , moya lyubov," he said. _Later, my love._ "Harry i Herm-own-ninny sa mi priyateli." _Harry and Hermione are my friends._ "Az ne sŭm gi vizhdal ot mnogo vreme." _I have not seen them in a long time._

"I az sŭm zhena ti!" she argued. _And I am your wife!_

"Te sa khubavi khora." _They are nice people._

"Siguren sŭm, che Hermione e mnogo khubavo da vi." _I am sure Hermione is very nice to you._

"Nina," Viktor gasped. "Ti si moyata lyubov i moya zhivot." _You are my love and my life._ "Se omŭzhikh za teb , ne , ya." _I married you, not her._

"Da! No iskal da e po drug nachin!" she finally said, tossing him one last look before running off. _Yes, but you wish it was the other way around!_

Harry leaned sideways, to Hermione. "Any idea what just happened?" he asked.

"So sorry," Viktor apologized, facing them, red with embarrassment. "Nina is very passionate about . . . dancing," he explained, clearing his throat. "I go see if she is OK."

"No worries, mate," Harry said, shaking hands with Viktor before he went off, into the crowd, following the click of his wife's dainty heels. "I'd say that went well."

Hermione rolled her eyes as he laughed. "Oh, stop it."


	17. Eyes On You II

**A/N: Okay, so this is another tester chapter to "Eyes On You". I want to see if you like it, how many of you are interested in the story, whether you would keep reading it, etc. I have some exciting ideas for it.**

 **In case anyone hasn't, be sure to read the first part of Eyes On You (Chapter 15 of the Crimson and Clover collection).**

 **Anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

The sun had just barely risen by the time he made it out of the house. It was a cold, windy morning, not unusual for that time of year, and just what he needed to focus. He made his way to the other side of town and jogged down the steps to the closest tube station. Luckily, it was teeming with early risers on their way to work or class. They didn't pay him a second of attention. To them, he was just a normal person in a hurry to make it to the office before his boss caught wind. What they didn't know was that he didn't work in an office, and that his boss was just around the corner.

An elderly man, grey-haired and dressed in a tweed coat, found the younger wizard's side. "Is it done?" he inquired, sipping casually on his morning coffee.

Draco looked straight ahead as the train arrived just in time, coming to a slow halt. The doors slid open and the crowd on the platform rushed to climb aboard. "There was a minor complication, but I took care of it."

"Were you seen?"

"I —" Draco wanted to lie and he probably should have, but there was no purpose. His boss always knew the truth. "I was . . . for a moment . . . but she won't remember a thing."

"Hmm. Good," the man remarked, hanging back as people weaved around them, in a hurry to catch the train. "The last thing I want, is to replace you, Draco. Keep that in mind. You're one of the best."

"No need to worry, sir. I can handle this," he affirmed, without a flinch.

"We'll see about that," his superior added, tossing his empty coffee cup into the bin before climbing aboard the train. The passengers around him were none the wiser. Half of them had probably mistaken him for a uni professor but Draco knew better.

He watched from the platform, ready for what came next.

* * *

Hermione took the lift to her department, checking the time on her wristwatch as a man whom she knew to work on the ninth level, followed in after her. She glanced up at him and nodded hello, recognizing his robes as that of an Unspeakable. It was on rare occasion that anyone outside of the Department of Mysteries knew those on the ninth floor, but she had worked closely with a few of them on top secrets cases, in which their expertise was needed. This man wasn't one of them. He was a familiar face for a different reason.

"Afternoon, Granger," nodded Blaise. "It's good to see you."

"You, too," she said back, quickly grabbing hold of the overhead handles as the lift took off, causing the two of them and the lift attendant to sway back and then right, and then back again on their way to level two, where the Auror Office was located.

"Congratulations on the Lestrange case by the way," Blaise added. "I heard it was a lost cause until you joined."

"Oh." To be honest, she had forgotten all about that case. "It was nothing. Most of the groundwork was complete by the time I was asked to take part."

Blaise smiled knowingly. "Ah, rubbish. No need for modesty. You're the best thing that's happened to the Auror Office since Kingsley Shacklebolt and I'd be nothing short of a fool to tell you otherwise."

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. "That's very kind of you, Blaise. I'm sure I'd have similar things to say about you, if the Mysteries' cases were public record."

"Is that your way of asking what I'm up to?" he questioned, lifting an inquisitive brow at the witch.

She shrugged, the ends of her lips turning up, into a smile. "Perhaps."

"In that case, why don't we exchange stories over dinner? I hear there's a nice little place that just opened in Serpent's Crossing."

"You mean the restaurant your friend Theodore Nott owns?" she asked, cleverly.

He chuckled in surprise. "Okay, okay, you caught me, but hey, it benefits to know the owner. I can get us a table by the aquarium and everything."

"The aquarium? Now you're talking . . ."

"So is that a yes?" he asked, swaying forward as the lift arrived on level two, after which the doors slid open and a gentle voice came on to inform them of the offices and subdivisions located on the level.

"That's a maybe," Hermione corrected, smiling as she walked past.

 ** _Three Hours Later_**

She sat quietly in the briefing room as her colleagues filed in one after the other.

Normally, she would have been on her way home or alone in her office, where she could get work done and do her job in a timely fashion, but an impromptu meeting had been called, with regards to the Auror Office's latest and most top secret case.

It had been going on for months and yet, the developments were scarce.

"Good evening, everyone," Kingsley said, coming to the front of the room, where Harry, the head of the department, usually stood. It seemed the meeting was of dire importance, otherwise the Minister for Magic would never have shown in his face.

They stood as he entered the room, and sat down only after he did.

On either side of Hermione were Dean Thomas and Percy Weasley. She looked to the other end of the room to see Harry in the back, his eyes flicking in her direction as though he read her mind.

Their communication had lessened over time, but the instincts of their adolescence remained. Whenever something went wrong, they turned to each other.

"On the table in front of you, you will each find a file with information on our case against a man called Aurelius," Kingsley began, snapping their attention onto him and then onto the purple folders in front of them. "Needless to say, the information in these files are highly classified and _will_ combust if copied or taken outside of the level two perimeter."

There were murmurs as he said this, many of which came from the younger Aurors who had never been part of a case quite like this one, before.

Hermione, on the other hand, had taken part in many a top secret mission. Though she still experienced a wave of adrenaline whenever the situation presented itself.

"I'm sure many of you are wondering why I've chosen to preside over this meeting in place of Auror Potter," he furthered, looking around at all of them. "The answer, is in that file. Open to page one and we will begin."

Again, there were murmurs, but they were quickly vanquished as the Aurors took a look inside the file, turning to the first page.

Hermione inhaled sharply, looking to her superior. "Harry—" She swallowed, a dry lump forming in her throat. "Your _son_."

He focused straight ahead, as though trying not to lose his cool, despite the tension in his eyes and around his forehead.

Kingsley cleared his throat. "As you can see, these photographs were taken within the Potter residence," he continued. "They were sent to Auror Potter's office early this morning, with a note signed by Aurelius. We've no choice but to assume this is a warning — a threat that tells us we're close to finding the information we need to track him down and destroy him. Because Auror Potter and his family are the ones at risk, I will be presiding the rest of the meetings to avoid a conflict of interest. In the mean time, I request that Auror Thomas and Auror Bones escort Auror Potter's wife and son to an undisclosed safe house and watch them until further notice. Any questions?"

This time, there were no murmurs, just grave looks to represent the fear trickling in with each glance at those photographs.

Baby James was the focus in all of them.

On the grass, in the living room, and up close . . . in his crib.

Someone was _watching_ him, and the thought of that made Hermione's head spin in tight circles. She breathed in, trying to relax, to centre her emotions and deal with it in a professional manner, but the more she tried, the faster everything spun.

"Wouldn't it be wiser to keep the family where they are?" Percy asked. "This could very well be a decoy," he furthered, astutely. "Aurelius is known for them."

Kingsley nodded, rubbing his chin. "Yes, normally that would be the wisest course of action, but there is an infant involved, which means we must take every measure necessary to ensure danger doesn't come knocking. Anything else?"

No one else had anything to say. There were all in too much shock, it seemed.

"Good," Kingsley stated, backing away from the table. "Bones and Thomas, follow me and we'll make the arrangements. The rest of you are dismissed."

Hermione blinked, the shapes and colours in the room blurring together, as she rose from her chair. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, after which she noticed that the room had cleared out. Harry was the last person there.

" _Hey_ ," she said, jogging towards him as he turned to leave.

Harry stopped in his tracks, startled. He darted a quick look around the room to see if they were alone before relaxing. "Hey," he said, deeply.

"This is going to sound stupid but I have to ask," Hermione started. "What can I do to help?"

He shook his head, looking down. "Nothing, it's OK. Kingsley has it under control. Gin and James will be out of here in no time, and I'll join them once I've handled a few things at the office."

She tensed, knowing that look in his eyes when she saw it. "If you need _anything_ . . ."

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Just a look of pure, unadulterated fear that shot them back eight years, before he left the briefing room in deafening silence.

* * *

Draco lowered the omnioculars, keeping his eyes on the living room window as an unmistakable silhouette travelled through the dimly lit room. Given that he was in a neighbouring home, the owners of which were away on holiday, the view was far from terrible. In fact he could have gone without the omnioculars altogether, but he needed them for the playback function. If, for some reason, Granger did something case-related, he needed evidence to show his boss. Gideon. Quite a strange name in his opinion, though he imagined it was fake, an alias. One of many, no doubt.

 _We'll see about that,_ Gideon had said to him on the train platform.

It was a threat — a gentle threat, but a threat nonetheless. There was weight to it, a cold reminder that he was replaceable, and that his livelihood wasn't the only thing resting on the success of the assignment.

To his knowledge, Gideon kept his employees on tight lock.

The only other 'professional' he'd met in the past eight years was his handler. Tall, lanky, hair the colour of sand, middle-aged and a complete knob when it came to women. His name was Ed and he was a friend and an enemy in many ways.

 _Focus,_ Draco reminded himself, lifting his omnioculars once again and panning to the left, where he found the witch of the hour on her favourite armchair, cuddled up by the fireplace with a book in one hand and a cup of hot chocolate in the other. He could tell by the look on her face that she was completely engrossed in the novel. It must have been something new, something she had never before laid eyes on. Odd, in his opinion, as he found it difficult to believe there was a book in the world that Hermione Granger had never read, or at least skimmed.

Using the zoom function on his omnioculars, he managed to catch a glimpse of the title before she repositioned her hand. _The Story of O_ , it was called. Truth be told, he wasn't well-versed in muggle literature, though he imagined the book was a tad different from Granger's usual read. Her cheeks were stained crimson and the look in her eyes was all fluttery, as though she were hiding a secret.

"Interesting choice," he smirked, lowering the omnioculars to take a drink of water. The thing about spying on her, was that he had no time to eat, drink, or bathe, and on the rare occasion that he did, he had to be quick about it. His only free time was during her work hours, which, admittedly, wasn't terribly short given her habit of staying late at the office, but he usually slept when she was at work, and he needed lots of it if he planned on watching her so closely at night.

A few seconds later, his attention was on her again.

The scene hadn't changed much. She was still in the armchair, holding the book in one hand and a cup of hot chocolate in the other, but her eyes were focused on the fireplace. She watched tiny embers dance around the flames, thinking. Whatever was on her mind, it gnawed through her defences and refused to be dismissed.

He watched in absolute silence.

* * *

Hermione stared deadpan at the fireplace as though it would miraculously bring to light the cause of her discomfort.

Needless to say, it didn't.

There was nothing physically wrong with her — nothing she could see, anyway — but she knew her body well enough to determine that something wasn't right. Part of it, she knew, had to do with the meeting and the things in that file, but the other part was a mystery.

She shook her head, trying to focus on the book once again, but those efforts were futile against the feeling in her chest. It was deep and twisting, and it grappled at her heart until she set the book down and rose from the arm chair, making her way to the bureau where she dipped her favourite Quill into a pot of ink and scratched on an empty sheet of parchment.

 _How does eight o'clock tonight sound?_

 ** _One Hour Later_**

There wasn't a soul in the vicinity that was ignorant to her identity. She bowed her head down a little, dabbing her lips on the serviette as the server came to replenish their wine. It was distracting, sure, to know that everyone in there knew her name, and that the fact that she was out with a man would most likely end up on the front page of the newspaper but she tried her best to put those worries to bed.

"You know, I'm a little surprised you agreed to see me," Blaise mentioned, cutting neatly into his filet mignon.

Hermione looked to him, trying not to make it obvious that she forgot he was there at all. "Why is that?" she asked, sipping lightly on the wine.

He shrugged. "You're a tough nut to crack, I suppose."

A brush of laugher tickled her throat. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Oh, it most certainly is," he assured her. "Anyway, I, er . . . I should probably tell you something."

"Wait, you're not actually going to tell me top secret Unspeakable stuff, are you?"

His face screwed. "What? _Oh_. No, I'll get sacked if I speak a word of that," he said, leaning over the table a little. "Someone's watching you."

"Wh —" Hermione froze, looking blankly at him before a piece of carrot when down the wrong pipe. One of the servers rushed over to help, weaving around tables of customers, most of whom turned around to see what the ruckus was about, but the choking stopped as soon as he arrived. "I'm OK," she blurted, an embarrassed hue to her cheeks as the server slowly backed away, exchanging words with another.

To her surprise, Blaise had hopped out of his seat and found her side, looking her in the eyes to see that was really OK. "Merlin's beard, Granger. I'm so sorry about that. I just wanted to point out that the man behind you was listening in and taking notes of the things we were saying. Didn't mean to give you a fright."

She tensed, turning around to see one of Rita Skeeter's minions in the restaurant, a glass of water and the cheapest item on the menu in front of him. Her chest relaxed and she sighed, facing the front again. "He works for _The Daily Prophet_. It's no big deal. There's always one of them lurking around."

Blaise's eyes widened a moment, and then everything about him softened. "That's horrible."

She shrugged, exhaling. "That's life."

"You know what?" he asked, looking quickly over her shoulder to see that the man was still listening in. "Let's get out of here."

"But . . ." Her eyes wandered to his filet mignon which was still largely untouched.

"Don't worry about that," Blaise said, holding his hand out to her. "Come on, let's lose the gossip columnist and have some real fun. What do you say?"

* * *

It started to rain as the night progressed.

Little by little, the secrets of London were washed away in the storm, all except for one.

Draco followed on the rooftops, as Granger and Zabini and walked side-by-side on the pavement, sharing an umbrella between them. He had rigged the omnioculars to see through obstructions like walls, curtains, and in this case, umbrellas.

It seemed Zabini had asked her on a date, a date which she had accepted out of . . . recklessness, perhaps. She led him through the gate and into her neighbourhood, an interesting move in Draco's opinion. Perhaps she was feeling more reckless than he thought.

He quickly slipped into the neighbouring home where he had watched her earlier and lifted the omnioculars to his eyes to find Granger and Zabini in her living room. They shared another bottle of red wine, drinking away the nerves before she took him by the hand and led him up the staircase, slowly . . .

The omnioculars drooped down a couple inches and he watched with his bare eyes, a bizarre sensation rippling through him as he played voyeur.

Granger and Zabini stepped closer together, having flirted most of the night, in and out of the restaurant, the build-up ricocheting between them as they kissed, slowly at first, and then faster. Various accessories and articles of clothing were removed with haste, then Granger's bare back was pressed against the window and she moaned so loud he could hear it, as clear and crisp as the rain pouring down on them.


	18. Butterbeer

"When I was a child, there was … there was a playground where my nanny used to take me," Draco explained, looking into the campfire as the others listened. "It was always empty and I never knew why. At the time, I was just happy that I had all the slides and monkey bars to myself, as any child would be, but … one cold afternoon …" There was a break in his story as he took a deep breath, trying to grasp some form of self-control before the nerves dug holes through his defences. "I saw a man on the other side of the playground … near the footpath through the willow trees. I ran to Bella, my nanny, and I told her there was a strange man watching us. She looked over her shoulder and froze as though she recognized him, but when she turned back around she smiled at me and told me that he was harmless. I believed her that day, because I trusted her and didn't think she would ever lie to me but … we never went back to that playground."

On the other side of the campfire sat Granger. She breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank Merlin."

Draco aimed a telling look in her direction.

Suddenly, the relief in those big brown eyes vanished. "Your … your nanny is OK, isn't she?" Granger questioned, shaken by the change in his demeanour.

He glanced down a moment, ignoring Astoria's worried looks and the knowingness that crossed Potter's stoic features.

"Bella died three days later," Draco voiced for the first time in over ten years. "The maids found her hanging from the ceiling fan in her bedroom. I … I didn't know it then, but the man under the willow trees was an old friend. A former associate of her father's. His name was Alistair and it … it turns out Bella's father owed Alistair something and … and …"

Granger's mouth twitched open and she leaned forward an inch, despite the blazing fire that stood between them. "You don't have to —"

"The Aurors couldn't find any evidence to support that Alistair was involved but I … _I knew_ ," he furthered. "The look on Bella's face when she saw him. It wasn't panic or fear … It was acceptance."

Potter blinked, forcing the trickle of emotion away. "She's the reason you're here, isn't she?"

Draco said nothing in response, but confirmed Potter's suspicion with a single nod. "When McGonagall suggested that I take part in this camping trip, I was hesitant to join as I'm not one for the kumbaya nonsense, but … but then I found out where it was going to be held and …" His gaze drifted towards the other end of the forest, through the footpath and the low hanging willows, where an old playground stood still as if frozen in time.

There was an empty beat as the others held onto the silence, in memory of Bella, of Draco's childhood nanny. It lasted a long time, longer than he anticipated it would, but lucky for him, the group eventually agreed to take a break. The girls went away for a moment, probably to use the loo, whilst the lads cracked open a few bottles of butterbeer.

He managed to leave without drawing attention, and made his way to the swing-set that he was so fond of as a child. The chains were rusty and old, and he thought the entire thing might fall apart the moment he sat down but it didn't. He kicked lightly on the dirt and swayed back and forth.

The rhythm was slow and calming, so much that he barely noticed it when another person joined, taking the swing directly beside his.

Draco looked to the left and felt his body tighten when he saw her.

"Sorry if I'm intruding," Granger said to him, handing one of the two bottles in her grasp, to him.

"You're not," he mumbled, slightly hesitant as he took hold of the butterbeer.

The silence that followed was swift and firm, but he was thankful for it. He didn't feel much like talking, and he had a strong feeling that Granger sensed that about him. She had that talent.

Draco knocked back a mouthful of butterbeer and wiped his lips with the back of his hand, having accepted the olive branch and the labyrinth of emotions that followed.

There were no words exchanged, nor looks given, but there was peace.

A bridge.

An olive branch.

A second chance.


	19. Ricochet

The strobe light was reflected in his eyes, illuminating the silver lines in them as he looked to her from across the club. In the background, there was music. Soft vocals punctuated by a seismic beat. A slow, tantalizing rhythm that seized control of her body. She stopped dancing and met his gaze, tentatively. There were tens, maybe dozens of people between them … moving, swaying to the music, caught in the lyrics and the substances. For a moment she wondered if the blonde was really him, or a figment of her imagination. Why it mattered, she had no idea. She was suddenly intrigued to found out and weaved through the swaying bodies, towards him. In that moment, he did the same, abandoning the exposed brick wall against which he had been leaning, handing his drink off to a random person, and slowly making his way to her.

They met somewhere in the middle wherein no lines existed, only lights and music and a rhythm that ricocheted from her body to his, and back again.

She could see herself reflected in his eyes, accented by the silver and the clouds of grey. To think those eyes had once looked to her with scorn, left a knot in her stomach. It gradually loosened as he leaned in to speak.


End file.
